


We go one more round

by thegirl20



Series: One more round (Emma/Terri) [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirl20/pseuds/thegirl20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different spin on the Emma/Terri scene from Hell-O.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We go one more round

“Beautiful table. Meticulous really. I guess being crazy has its benefits.”  
  
From your vantage point at the doorway you see the shock register on her face. The slight hesitation before the Stepford smile is back in place.  
  
“It’s date night. Actually it was tomorrow but Will wanted tonight so I’m surprising him. And I know he keeps a key under the mat.”  
  
Her words ignite a fire in your belly that you can’t completely explain away as jealousy. You saunter further into the room, keeping your eyes on her, noting with satisfaction that her breathing has increased in speed at your presence.  
  
“You’re really loving this, aren’t you?”  
  
And you mean it. You know this is her ultimate fantasy. Playing house with a handsome man. Making him dinner and arranging the table so that it’s perfect. The dutiful little housewife. But you also know that it’s a facade.  
  
“I take no pleasure in your pain, Terri,” she says and a frisson of arousal shoots through you at her choice of phrasing. “But I am enjoying seeing Will get a second chance at happiness, yes.”  
  
“Oh, and you’re the one to introduce him to this magical new world of bliss?” you snap, because she’s not and she never will be. “What, you with your three times a day showers and the fact that you can’t sleep unless your shoes are all in a row?”  
  
You push her because you know it’ll get the facade to slip, if only for a moment. And you’re right. She hates that you know this about her. Things that he doesn’t even know about her. But you do know them and she can’t change that.  
  
“Is there a reason that you’re here? Because I’d kinda like you to be gone when Will gets home.”  
  
And there it is, your opening. You stalk around the table, your smile growing predatory as she takes a step back.  
  
“Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you?” you say, approaching her like a jungle cat. “That would make it easier for the two of you to pretend like I don’t exist. So you can carry on in your little PG world, having polite dinners and holding hands on the couch.”  
  
You’re right up against her now, so close you can smell the toothpaste she probably just used. You drop your bag on the floor and reach out to run your fingernail along her jaw. She twists her head away and you smirk.  
  
“Have you let him touch you yet?” you ask, conversationally.  
  
She closes her eyes and that’s answer enough.  
  
“No, I didn’t think so. I bet you told him you’re still a virgin, huh?”  
  
She whips her head back to look at you, her eyes brimming with venom.  
  
“I am. I...was...”  
  
“Uh huh. ‘Was’, honey. Past tense.”  
  
Your hand snakes out and your palm fits against her hip, pulling her towards you, turning her body. She puts up a weak struggle, but not for long. She looks at her feet. Your other hand goes to her chin, forcing it up roughly so that she’s looking you in the eyes.  
  
“So, I’m guessing you haven’t told him that I’ve fucked you in ways he can’t even imagine.”  
  
You yank her face towards your own, lips crashing together. You taste blood and when you pull away, it’s your own. You lick the split, letting the copper tang spread over your tongue. You’re still holding her face, hard enough that you can see pressure marks on her skin around your fingers.  
  
She’s shaking her head and pushing at your shoulders but you start walking and she’s forced to back up until she’s pinned between you and the wall. You place your forearms on the wall on either side of her head, your body flush against hers, your thigh almost, but not quite, between her own. You study her face.  
  
“Have you told him how you came looking for me? Huh? How you so badly wanted to believe that you wanted to give me a piece of your mind?”  
  
You lower your head to her neck and press your lips to the pale skin, a soft kiss, almost tender.  
  
“When really, you just wanted to give me a piece of yourself.”  
  
You scrape your teeth over her sharp collar bone and feel her tremble.  
  
“Have you told him how often we’ve hooked up? Have you told him that I’ve had you on your knees, begging me for release? Have you told him that the first time you came, it was my name you cried out...not his.”  
  
A sob rumbles through her chest and you feel it in your own before it erupts from her mouth. You turn your head and rub your nose through her hair until it touches her ear.  
  
“Have you told him that you don’t want him to touch you?”   
  
You whisper it, like the secret it is. There are tears running down her face now and you lean in and catch them with your tongue and your lips.  
  
“Who do you want to touch you, Emma?”  
  
She shakes her head, her eyes closed, her lips pressed together to keep the words in. You take one of your hands and run it from her cheek down, over her shoulder, lightly skimming the side of her breast, further down until it is bunching up her dress and inching up the inside of her thigh. She bucks forward and bites her lip, whimpering when your hand stops moving.  
  
“Who do you want to touch you, Emma?”  
  
“Y...you,” she breathes.  
  
You move your hand so that you are pressing against her damp panties.  
  
“Say it again. Louder.”  
  
She opens her eyes now and looks at you, more naked than if she had no clothes on.  
  
“You,” she says, her voice breaking on the single word.  
  
You push aside her underwear, roughly, and lean forward, kissing her at the same time as your fingers meet with slick flesh, sliding easily to meet their goal. She gasps into your mouth and you smile. There’s something potent, primal, about knowing you’re the first person to do this. The  _only_  person to do this. You wrench your mouth away and move back to her neck, sucking this time, marking her as yours.  
  
You curl your fingers inside her, pressing up with the heel of your hand until she makes that high-pitched sound in her throat that you know means she’s close. You slow down your thrusts, and take some of the pressure off her centre and she whines into your ear.  
  
“What is it Emma? What do you need?”  
  
You know what she needs, you have from the first time you touched her. Your hand seemed to know her body instinctively. But you like to hear her say it, almost as much as she hates having to say it.  
  
“I...I...Terri...”  
  
“Tell me what you need. Or I’ll walk away.”  
  
You’ve threatened her with this before. Neither of you knows if it’s an empty threat or not, because she’s never tested it.  
  
“I need...harder...faster...”  
  
You increase your thrusts again, lengthening them, taking care to touch her where she needs to be touched. It’s almost enough.  
  
“What do you need, Emma?”  
  
She forces her eyes to focus on yours.  
  
“I need  _you_ , Terri.”  
  
That’s what you were waiting for. Your lips meet hers at the instant she tips over the edge from your touches. She pitches forward and you hold her up as she wraps her arms around your neck, panting and crying. You slowly withdraw your hand, feeling a quiver run through her as you brush her sensitive skin again. You pull her against you in an embrace that shouldn’t follow what just happened.  
  
“That’s right. You need  _me_. Remember that.”  
  
You ease her away from your body and she leans back against the wall for support, looking at you as her chest heaves.  
  
“Don’t bother sleeping with my husband tonight,” you hear yourself saying. “You’ve already been screwed.”  
  
And she has. She looks well and truly fucked. She’s sweating, her hair is sticking to her brow, there’s a red mark on her neck and her dress is still pushed too far up her thighs. She looks like a fire goddess, you think.  
  
She shakes her head.  
  
“I hate you,” she whispers, and you can hear in her voice that she really wishes that were true.  
  
You lean forward, so close that your nose is rubbing against the side of hers, your lips moving over her mouth as you speak.  
  
“I hate you, too.”  
  
Then you push away from her and pick your bag up. You take your time walking away, swinging your hips a little more than necessary. You pause and look back at her. Keeping your eyes locked with hers, you flick a spoon out of place on the table.  
  
“Oops. Sorry.”


End file.
